


Even in the silence, I heard your voice

by Madoking



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: But she doesnt look a day under thirty, F/M, Kass is 2.500 years old, Modern Setting, Natakas survives the beach, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:39:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23260336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madoking/pseuds/Madoking
Summary: “You died,” she whispered, bending down to get a pair of jeans from the bag. “You died and nothing was ever the same.”Kassandra stood with the pants and walked over to him, gently measuring them against his hips. If they weren’t the right size, then the belt would fix them. She just needed to prepare him; to allow herself the mercy of the thought that he could join this life with her. That she wouldn’t be alone. And the next step of that would be clothing him; teaching him a new language; letting him adjust to whatever this was.But, then, she knew what would happen. He would die, just as their son did. And she would outlive him again.-----An Artifact wants to give Kassandra a gift, and decides that that gift is Natakas. Kassandra tried to modernise him to the 21st Century.
Relationships: Kassandra/Natakas (Assassin's Creed)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 59





	Even in the silence, I heard your voice

She was not sandstone. She did not sit and wait for the wind and the surf to draw away her being. 

She was not obsidian. To be struck and tried in only the most exact way in order to slit a man’s throat. 

No. But she was basalt. She was fire born and pressure made, from the fires and waters of Thera, where the sea rose and claimed a colony tense with hubris. 

The volcano was unchanged. It no longer flowed, its slopes swaying green and blue in the scorching sun. But the shape of it, it’s inherent character, sat happily, poking out of the water with a wink to the ships that glided by. 

Kassandra had not been here for a long time. She had avoided Hellas completely, excepting when she quietly returned idols stolen by the British Museum and slid them into the homes and offices of eager researchers. Each time something was “discovered”, Kassandra returned it. As a guest curator of the Greek halls, she mourned with her colleagues when an historical item was lost from the circulation of benefactors. “Oh no,” she’d exclaim, before quietly adjusting the museum plaque that called menstruation calendars measuring guides. She was still quick, silent, watchful, even after two and a half milleniums. Her rucksack was heavy with the latest swipe, but this one felt different. It warmed in her hands.

She sailed her charter into the western bay, to the pier erected for tourists. Though Thera was no longer active, it was still stunning. She’d destroyed the old entry into the volcano in the eighteenth century, when she truly feared that it would be found. So now, she was forced to dive beneath the surface of the water and navigate the caves that led to her father’s resting place. 

“Never gets easier,” she said as she stripped down to her swimmers. The weather was warm, high summer, and she fully expected the water beneath the waves to be the same. She’d avoided the jade water and white sands, preferring the impersonal cold of the rest of the world. She moved every twenty years, beginning anew with limited documentation. Most recently, she’d lived in Sydney, Australia, but found the waters and the weather too similar to the city of her birth. It was an uncanny valley, and it made her skin prick with quiet longing. 

She stretched her arms above her head, pushing her joints to their upper limits, before silently scoping her shadow. Still tall, still lean, still muscled. She knew that if she was staring into a mirror, she’d also see the frown she’d worn since her family had died, one by one. First Brasidas, lost for Spartan pride. Then her blooded father, disappearing when she’d accepted his mantle. Then her true father, an infection forcing him away. Then mater, then Stentor, then Alexios. None of them had families, people she could trace and love throughout the centuries. 

None of them had voices that she could hear in her head anymore. None of their faces were clear. She didn’t have records of them at all. They weren’t mentioned by Herodotos, by Thucidydes. Except Brasidas, none of them made an impression at all. 

A flicker of a smile threatened as she thought of Brasidas’ legacy. She remembered the gold box that had held his bones and the state of honour it held in Amphipolis’ agora. When they’d found it, relatively recently, and restored it into a museum, she’d essentially run here to see it again. To feel a tangible connection to the first man she’d loved. 

It was horrible. Behind a velvet rope, spoken about as if the man that inspired it was a shadow. Just an idea. Just a song. Just the false, exaggerated words of an Athenian who hadn’t heard his bellow or felt his calloused hands. The sum of his famous action, rather than the heart that had beaten within his chest. 

Brasidas of Sparta: too proud, too cunning, too brisk. He was all of these things, but tempered, too. 

The only one that the world remembered. 

That was the last time she’d braved Hellas. She didn’t even know the language anymore, she avoided it so much. Her native tongue was ancient now, studied and remembered only by academics who dissected her culture as if they knew better. Who trusted the untrustworthy Athenian sources, and said that the heart of Sparta was its stupidly militaristic nature. 

She could feel the artefact through her rucksack, calling to the others that were held here. 

She dived.

\--------

“Hello, Pythagoras,” she called when she reached the cave. “Good day?”

If he ever answered, she would probably die of fright, but thinking that she wasn’t alone in this large, cavernous space made coming here easier. The blue tones from the sea shone on the walls, bathing her in eerie light. The tide cast shadows. 

The throbbing from the artefact was marked now. It could remember its brothers held in the vault here, maybe. Or it could feel the power held within her blood. 

The blood of Kings, of those who came before. 

She’d watched her home city refuse to fall to Philip. She’d watched as her home city was overwhelmed by Rome. She’d seen the halls she’d wandered fall to dust and ruin, forgotten in the intervening stretch of years. People gone. Places gone. Only keeping the artefacts safe held purpose for her. 

She began to whistle, the sound echoing and calling back to her within the space. An appropriation of _Doe, a deer_ , but she struggled to whistle the higher notes. She turned to singing them, humming their melody and hearing the return as if it was another soul calling to her. 

Her song stopped abruptly when her breath left her chest. At least Brasidas had a legacy that was centuries long and studied and dissected. He was recognised, and he existed. 

But her second love, the one lost protecting their son from the horrors of the Order, held not even a whisper to the annals of history. The Order had melded into another organisation with longer tendrils and darker means, but she’d withdrawn from the fight slowly. If they knew her, then they would follow her and find the technology that would enable them to destroy the world. No. Better for her to fall into obscurity and for them not have a whiff or whisper of where or who she was. 

And Elpidios had grown, had children of his own, grandchildren. She’d followed them until the Romans overwhelmed them, but then they were lost from her. No children followed, even though she was sure that Elpidios’ blood flowed through to the modern day. She couldn’t have followed _every single_ descendant. 

It still crushed her heart. She’d cried and pleaded more than once for any sign of her Natakas. She’d never married him, she hadn’t protected him properly. She’d never even seen his body. She’d seen blood, his, because Elpidios was unscathed when she’d finally retrieved him. She should never have left them on the beach.

Tears formed now, salting her face. She’d grown old. The emotion was crusted and she refused to open to the wound. Wiping her eyes, she let herself have a single sob before forcing the longing down. 

Because it was longing. It was pining. She wanted him in her arms again. She wanted to love him. She’d not loved since, knowing that it would just end in death. 

But she missed him more than any of the others. He was a gaping hole in her soul that had never had an answer since. Perhaps it was the way her son caught the light when she’d seen him when he was older than Natakas had ever been. Maybe it was the great-grandson who could have been his doppelganger, except in his eyes. He’d had blue eyes. 

Kassandra shook her head, placing the feelings into the box she kept locked in her chest. It battered her ribs, she ignored it. 

“I found another artefact, father,” she said once her whistling had returned and faded. “This one was a dagger in the Byzantine style. Well, Roman.” She shrugged her shoulders to no one in particular. She’d not been interested in the subsequent history of the peoples that had burnt down her city. She’d helped the Iceni burn London in a fit of revenge. She’d escaped the subsequent slaughter of the people, unhappily, but she had a task in Hellas that apparently couldn’t have fallen to anyone else. 

“Why were they always weapons?” she murmured to herself, dropping her rucksack from her back and allowing the weight to lift from her shoulders slowly. She barely carried anything these days, except a small knife on her calf. The world had shifted, changed. She didn’t kill for money anymore. She wasn’t in the sights of any cults or organisations. She didn’t enter any fights that had nothing to do with her specific task. Perhaps that was a poor change, but she was too old and too jaded to care. 

“Of course, they were weapons because they answered to blood,” she whispered. 

One day, someone might reply. 

She retrieved it from her rucksack and felt its power burn her skin. She didn’t blister, but it was unpleasant. The blade was honed and golden, with filigree detail and agate embedded into the hilt. It was beautiful, exactly why it was sought after by the museum. Kassandra didn’t have jurisdiction over its acquisition, the Greek halls were clique-y, but she’d heard it sing to her from the warehouse where it was being cleared for display. So she’d swiped it and come straight to Hellas with it. 

And now that she was looking at it again, she could feel the intoxication of its power. This was why she was sought by the Order, because of how much power flowed between her and the weapon. The cult sought to use it; the order sought to destroy it. 

But she would keep it in a dark place, hidden from the rest of the world, until the sun swallowed the earth and all was destroyed anyway. 

She opened the vault that held the other artefacts. They all sang to her in different ways. One begged for power. Another pleaded for recognition. Yet another asked for knowledge. 

The one in her hand didn’t ask for anything. It didn’t sing to her in a way that assured her that she would lose in the exchange. Instead it presented a gift. She couldn’t discern what yet, but she knew this one felt different. 

She knelt down in the vault, ready to place the knife into its own velvet box. Her mind turned, quietly, to how the agate in the hilt caught the light and looked like Natakas’ eyes...

Then she was blown off her feet by a surge of power that shook the room and rippled behind and in front of her. A sharp crack sounded from the rock and the cave held its shuddering breath as it rained down dust and debris in response to the rude awakening. Kassandra was blinded by the sand and she instinctively drew her hands to her face to try and clear her sight. 

She didn’t have time before screaming erupted: forceful, terrified screaming. It was dread, and fear, and knowledge, reverberating around the walls and echoing back. It formed a cacophony that heightened her own instincts to that of terror: a feeling she hadn’t felt since…

She rubbed her eyes, forcing them open before they were ready. The screaming continued, coming from the vault. 

She launched to her feet and pitched forward. She was still in her swimmers, the one piece designed for speed in the water giving no help to her skin, now bloody and raw from the rocks she’d grazed. Her hands met the stone in her frenzy to reach the screaming, tripping and falling. 

The door to the vault remained open and unobstructed, though the dust hadn’t cleared enough for her to see into it. She strained, thinking that perhaps a tourist had taken a wrong turn, or the government had maybe started some kind of works that she wasn’t aware of. She had enough surveillance of the island to know of the movements here, but something might have escaped her gaze.

Her hands touched warm flesh for only a fleeting moment before the screaming became louder and a blow struck her through the gathered dust. It knocked her to the side and she staggered into the shelvings that held the other precious items that she kept here. The gold chain Nikolaos had given her on his deathbed. Her brother’s bracers. Natakas’ bow. Her son’s blanket. Many of them crashed to the ground around her as she lost her feet and ended up on her arse.

She felt the wind of another blow and successfully dodged it, pushing the fist away from her mouth and pushing in the elbow to disable the arm. The screaming turned into a grunt as pain now doubt pushed through her assailant.

“Stop,” she said quietly before blocking another flailing punch. 

The punch faltered before it could connect with her, and instead the contact was a grazing touch to her shoulder. 

“Kassandra?” the voice whispered, hoarse. 

She froze, her insides raw. The slow trickle of ice tracked down her back and fed into her veins, not making her shiver, not making her act, not making her know. She was breathless, aimless, petrified. 

“Kass?” he said again. “Is that you?”

Even with the loss of his voice from her memory, she knew it when she heard it. She knew the inflections of his accent, even as he spoke Ancient Greek. 

“Natakas?”

The dust was clearing, but it didn’t quite help. She still could barely see because the tears had eaten into her vision.

His hands found her face roughly. 

“I was on the beach and had hidden Elpidios but they were almost upon us and then the gust of wind came and obscured the sand. What happened? Are you injured?”

She still couldn’t breathe. 

She still couldn’t see. 

He was talking enough for the both of them anyway.

“My father? Where’s my father? And the Order is upon us, we have to move. Where are we?”

“Natakas…” she whispered. He stopped his tirade abruptly, the dust cleared around them. She saw his deep brown hair, rough and uncared for, his dark skin, the colour of wet earth, his eyes, shining and fearful as he looked at her. Her memory of his face had faded, and it was softer in her mind than the man rolling on the balls of his feet before her. His cheeks were angled, almost in malnutrition. Perhaps she was just too used to the modern west with its abundance of food. 

There were wounds to his arms and a slash across his chest. His shirt was torn. 

All of these details she needed to take in before she could speak. They were tangible. They rooted him here, rather than simply in her imagination. 

“Is it really you?” she muttered. The old language felt strange in her mouth.

His face blanched, staring deeply into her eyes. “Yes, of course. We have to move.”

He picked her up by her wrist, ignoring the way she was dressed and ignoring where they were. 

His eyes turned up, looking above them at the cave roof. 

“We must have fallen into this cave from the beach. Elpidios is vulnerable up there. We have to find a way out.”

“Natakas…”

“That’s if he didn’t fall too. Gods, what if he fell too?”

“Natakas!”

He looked at her then, eyes wide with terror. 

She could still barely speak. “You died.”

His eyes, wide as saucers before, narrowed a little at her declaration. 

“You died on the beach. And yet you’re here.”

“No, Kass. The beach just happened. I fell through the sand into this cave.” He pulled her along again, walking towards the old entrance to the cave. The one she’d sealed, but the logical choice seeing as the ground tended upwards. But the only way out of here was down, into the waters beneath them.

“Natakas, look at me,” she said, feeling the burning of his skin. He didn’t stop, didn’t look at her. It was then that it struck her: he was still fighting for his life. He was still in a battle.

“We have to get to Elpidios.”

He was still trying to save his son. The son that had died an old man, surrounded by his own children and grandchildren, innumerable years ago. He had no idea that he would never see Elpidios again.

Kassandra pulled roughly on his hand and brought his palm to her face, eyes hard. “Please, look at me.” 

He paused at the pleading in her voice. He’d likely never heard the tone from her. When he knew her, she was young and fierce and untied by the constant death of the people she loved. Now she was old and standing in front of her dead lover. 

But he took her in, bit by bit. His eyes trailed her face, unwrinkled and likely exactly as he remembered it. But her hair was in a tight bun, away from her face as she swam. She only wore her swimmers, a single blade tied to her thigh. It wasn’t ornate: it was a diving knife, sharp and modern with a plastic hilt. His hand reached out, touching the sleek material of the swimmers before looking down to her bare thighs. 

“What is this?” he whispered, fear entering his voice again. 

“I don’t know what happened, but you died on that beach, Natakas. I saw your blood. Your father took Elpidios to Egypt to raise him. Thousands of years ago.”

“What?” 

“You died on-.”

“No, I heard you,” he confirmed quietly, hand dropping from her. He looked up again, taking in the cave. His eyes were suspicious, squinted, trying to figure out where he’d been dropped. Kassandra felt as though her chest was caverning out, unable to breathe. 

“What is this place?” he asked, whispering as if the slightest noise could send him tumbling through time.

“Thera. Where my father died.”

“Thera. A volcano.”

“Yes,” she said, eyes searching his face for his inevitable distress. 

“Your father?”

“He left me a task that I’ve been trying to fulfil. It’s related to my blood. I have to collect and protect the technology of my ancestors before they fall into hands that can’t control them.”

He nodded lightly. Turning from her, he looked down the cave towards the watery view, full of sharks and rays. It was a form of glass, she knew that now, but it was unique to Thera. The light glow of the architecture attracted his gaze. 

“Thousands?” 

She gulped down a sob. “It’s been two-thousand, four hundred and thirty-five years since I left you on that beach.”

He didn’t react right away. That’s how she knew that he didn’t believe her. Or perhaps he just couldn’t fathom it yet.

“Elpidios?” he whispered instead.

Her mouth opened to answer, but she knew it wasn’t enough. She had to touch him; had to feel his skin and the way it made hers buzz. But when her hands reached for him, he grabbed her wrists and prevented her from embracing him. She saw him swallow, fighting for the muscles in his neck to work and let some of the stress release. 

“What happened to Elpidios, Kassandra?”

She took a shuddering breath, mimicking the cave, and let the words out into the air. 

“I had to let him go. Your father raised him in Egypt.”

“My father?”

She nodded. 

“Why not you?”

“Because the Order would never stop looking for me, but he had a chance with Darius. He could live with Darius, rather than just surviving. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

He moved his thumbs over her skin in a calming action. Drawing little circles that spread through her. _His_ touch. Him. Here.

She launched herself into his arms and felt his hard muscles, primed for a fight, pressing into her shoulders and engulfing her being. He was tangible. He was corporal. He was _alive_. 

“You’re alive, Natakas,” she whimpered, letting herself sob. “You’re alive.”

“I’m alive,” he confirmed, squeezing her so tightly that she might burst. “I never died.” There was a slight inflection at the end of the declaration, like it was a question. 

“I never found your body. I only saw your blood, but I thought…” She sobbed again, unable to keep the sound in. “I thought that the only way you would leave Elpidios was to die. That you would protect him until your death.”

“No, instead I’m here.”

He let her go and looked around again. “Two thousand years?”

She nodded. 

“You’ve been alone for two thousand years?”

She choked on the cry that tried to escape. He reached for her again, and she couldn’t help herself. She crumpled in his arms and released all of her grief. He fell to the floor of the cave with her, his urgency disappearing with the knowledge that they weren’t being pursued. He kissed her forehead, her temples, her hairline, her eyes, her tears. Touching, feeling her as she wracked with the sorrow that had followed her for so long. 

“What happened to Elpidios, Kass?” He asked again.

She looked up at him, searching his eyes. 

“He grew to be an old man, Natakas,” she whispered. “He had children of his own.”

Natakas’ mouth ticked, a frown and a smile vying for attention on his face. 

“I saw him twice once your father took him. Once when he was around nineteen. He was rebellious, working the rigs of a ship going through the Aegean. Darius had passed by then and he was fairly directionless.”

“How did you know it was him?”

The corners of her mouth curled upwards. “He looked like you. It was like seeing a ghost.”

The frown won, transforming his face to misery. He swallowed roughly, kissing her knuckles as he did so. “When was the other time?”

It was Kassandra’s turn to swallow. 

“When he was old, older than even your father. He had daughters, three. And two of them had at least four each. I’ve lost track of them over the years.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he murmured. 

“No,” she said pensively, her emotions no longer running from her. “You were here.”

“What do you think happened?”

She looked to the vault, at least twenty metres from where they were sprawled on the damp floor of the cave. The dust had settled, but the power that had rocked her and the room could only be from one thing. 

“The artefacts from my ancestors,” she said, gesturing. “They hold power. I was thinking of you when I was handling one. Perhaps it called to you.”

He furrowed his brow. 

“What do you remember?” she asked. 

“I’d placed Elpidios in the ship and had turned to face the order. Then the wind picked up and I was thrown through the ground. Then I was on stone, cold, with you in front of me.”

Realisation mounted, causing her neck to close and her hands to make fists. It was her fault. Elpidios was taken because his father wasn’t there to protect him. Because she’d thought of him when handling the artefact that wanted to give her a gift.

It was her fault that her son grew up without a father. 

Another sob escaped her, muffled by Natakas’ shoulder as he pre-empted it and pulled her towards him. He was glorious.

“This isn’t your fault, Kass,” he whispered into her hair. 

She continued to cry as he stroked her back.

“I’m here, I’m not going anywhere. Especially if Elpidios is already…” he paused, gulping. “If he’s already lived a full life. What more could we want, right?”

She didn’t need to nod for him to know she agreed. She’d lived as an abandoned misthios. He’d lived on the run. For their son to grow up as neither was cause for celebration. 

“How are _you_ here, Kassandra? Is Alexios also…?”

She shook her head. “My father was a hundred and fifty when he sired me with my mother. Another artefact kept him alive, and he passed it to me. I’ve had it since.”

“So you’re…”

“I don’t know exactly how old.”

An amused smile danced across his face. “You remember how many years since you lost me, but not your age?”

“Officially, I’m thirty,” she said. “That’s what my passport says.”

Further amusement crossed his face. “What’s a passport?”

“Oh, you’re going to hate them. They track when you enter and leave a nation.”

“What’s a nation?”

“Ahh, borders have become more defined. I can show you on a map.”

“So, Sparta is a nation?”

She thinned her mouth. She still hated the Romans. 

“No. Sparta doesn’t exist anymore, not really. Hellas is a nation, though. And Persia is Iran, now, also a nation.”

She was already overwhelming him, she knew. Her simple trip to drop off the artefact had turned into this. 

“We can stay here for a bit. No one speaks this language anymore. You have to learn another one if you want to communicate.”

“Persian?”

Kassandra shook her head. 

“I know a little Tamil?”

Kassandra shook her head again. “I can teach you modern Greek. And I live in the UK, and they speak English. But…”

He used the tips of his fingers to turn her face towards him. 

“Do you want to stay?” she asked. Her heart broke at the question, but it had to be asked. It had to be acknowledged that this was something that he’d been forced into, rather than his choice.

He laid a gentle kiss on the bone of her jaw and she closed her eyes at the sensation. Hoping against hope. 

“You say that our son lived a full life?”

She nodded, eyes still closed. 

“And my father raised him until he died?”

She nodded again, refusing to look at him. 

“And you’ve been alone for two-thousand, four hundred and thirty-five years?”

She didn’t move. She didn’t want to be reminded of the further milleniums possible stretching out before her when she’d be alone. Because even if he stayed, he wasn’t immortal. Just like her brother wasn’t. 

“Then I want to stay here, with you.”

His breath was warm against her cheek, and he turned her face roughly, staring directly and unfathomably into her eyes. His gaze flicked down only once before crushing his lips to hers, power moving through him and into her. 

The crunch of fresh grass under foot. The heavy rain after a droughted summer. The bite of a cool apple following a marathon. 

That’s how he felt. Her largest love here, and in her arms. His wiry hair. His powerful arms. His broad shoulders. History had forgotten him, but she never could. The touch of him was the same. The way he felt was the same. But still, she clutched him as if he could float away like dust. 

He broke away from her, breathing hard. Caressing her cheek and touching her jaw, he surveyed her face. Then his eyes turned lower, to the lycra that helped her speed through the water. 

“What is this?”

“A Lycra blend,” she replied. “There used to be an entrance to the cave above us, but I sealed it when people kept trying to get in. You have to dive to enter or leave here, now.”

He nodded absentmindedly. His hand moved to her knife, feeling the rough hilt. “Where’s your spear?”

She shrugged. “Lost. It hasn’t come through the museum yet, but I’ll keep it if it crops up on the market.”

“Do you still do misthios stuff?” he said. 

“No, I haven’t killed anyone in years and years. I work at the museum, collecting and returning things that have been stolen. Some of the ideas they spout about Sparta,” she shook her head on the verge of laughing. 

There were simply too many things to say. Her instincts were to keep the conversation buoyant, flippant, but the dominating emotion in her gut was dread. She was joyful that he was here. But she knew how this worked: she’d seen too much to trust that this was any sort of happy ending for her. He would die eventually, leaving her alone again. 

When the Gods had mortal lovers, they were a flicker of time unable to be caught. A blink, a glance, a single heartbeat before they were lost. That was how Natakas had felt to her since he was lost and she took on the staff. She had come to the conclusion that she was destined to this life, and destined to not share it. She’d had no one since, unable to bear that kind of loss over and over and over again. 

But he was here. He was in front of her. 

Rather than drag him down with her sorrow, she instead ignored it, refusing to give it breath. 

“Are you hungry?” she asked, stepping away from him and towards her rucksack. 

“Ahh, not really,” he replied, watching as she walked away. “I’m still a little scared, to be honest. Still have the adrenaline from the whole, you know, _Order thing_?”

“Oh, right,” she said, still walking. His eyes followed her all the way to the vault. 

She peered inside, and breathed out her disappointment. 

A mess. It was a mess. The shelving was down, and many of her things were about the floor in a heap. 

She picked up the powder coated steel shelf and placed it in its frame against the wall. Then, keeping her mind clear, she picked up some of the velvet lined boxes that held the artefacts. As usual, they sang to her, begging her to wield their power. And, again, as per usual, she ignored them. Then she reached for the dagger, the one that had given her the promise of a gift. Her mind was blank, but even as she touched it, she didn’t hear the whining that had come with it. It was silent, almost just a normal dagger.

Picking it up, she ran the blade along her hands, feeling the cool metal. Shrugging, she placed it in its own velvet box and closed the lid, storing it next to its brothers. 

“This is my bow.”

Her head hit the steel shelving in fright at the words, said just behind her back. A sharp pain tore through her scalp, and she knew she’d struck the corner of the shelf, where the steel folded in on itself.

“Oh, sorry!” Natakas said, touching her shoulder lightly. 

Unwillingly, she cowered from the touch. Still in pain, still needing a little bit of time to process what had happened, still wanting to clean up her little room of treasures. 

She turned to him, using the balls of her feet to pivot. He was holding his bow, the one she’d taken from the beach and kept since. She’d even used it for a bit until technology overtook it and the wood began to fail. She couldn’t bear it breaking, so she’d stored it away in the hope that it would retain his touch in its ornate carving. 

“That is your bow, yes,” she replied. His eyes were on her, but seeing the weapon in his hands brought back flashes of him in the Achaean sun. His laugh as he drove an arrow down the grain of hers, both of them striking the centre of the target. His gentle touch on her elbow, shifting her technique to introduce more power to her shots. 

“You kept it?”

“Of course I kept it. It was all I had of you.”

It wasn’t strung, and the leather grip had completely degraded. The humidity in the cave was managed by pouches of chalk she kept about the place, so it hadn’t rotted like she’d feared it would. She was actually pretty proud of how her things held up, considering the state of much of the specimens that had come through work. 

He placed the bow back down, not in its proper spot, and sent her a half smile before turning and walking down the passageway towards the water. 

Kassandra huffed. Her reaction was rude and he might not understand it. 

She turned back to the vault. The artefacts were accounted for and placed, but her father’s necklace had snapped, half on the floor and the other half hanging off the corner of its wooden box. 

Kassandra burst into tears at the sight of it. The golden links that had come apart were twisted and malformed. Her father didn’t just buy the necklace and gift it, he’d _made_ it. The gold work was his: his hands had touched every part of it and now it sat broken on the floor of a cave two and a half thousand years from him. 

She felt, rather than saw, Natakas take the gold from her hands. Her eyes were closed and she couldn’t bear to look at the broken chain. She heard him muttering to himself, the sound a welcome interlude to her misery. 

“I can fix it, Kass,” he whispered, holding the chain in the palm of his hand. “Do you want me to fix it?”

She nodded, unable to speak. 

“Do you have any hammers, or an iron surface?”

She nodded again, knowing what he meant. She pointed to the far reaches of the cave, where she kept some equipment, indicating the leather case sitting on a shelf. He made his way towards the toolbox, opening it and exclaiming out loud at its contents. She watched, through bleary eyes, as he first picked up a screwdriver, then a standard hammer. 

“Inside,” she called. His head turned to look at her. “The precision tools are inside, in a yellow pouch.”

He nodded, rifling through until he drew out the black and yellow fabric box. He looked at the zipper that closed it, unwilling to disturb her further, but not understanding how it opened. He tried first to pry it open like a clamshell. Then, using his fingernails, he flicked at the stitching along the edge, hoping for an opening that meant he could access it. 

Kassandra giggled. Gods, she hadn’t laughed in years. The sound was foreign, but unmistakably from her mouth. He lifted his head to look at her again, a wry grin on his face. He might be used to her laugh, seeing he came from a place where she was happy, but she hadn’t felt the course of joy in a long time. 

“You’re enjoying this,” he said, pointing to the pouch. “How does it open?”

She stood and walked over to him, finally feeling a little chilly in her small and damp clothing. She bent down next to him and indicated the zipper pull, the metal glinting in the light. 

“You pull it,” she said simply. She wasn’t afraid to admit that she _was_ enjoying Natakas, so competent and clever in his own world, struggle with things he’d never seen before.

He pulled the zipper, just as she’d suggested, but outward, towards his hand. 

She giggled again, as he almost threw the tools to the ground. 

“You’re teasing me.”

“Yes,” she replied. Then she reached over and pulled the zipper along its grain, listening to the unfurling of the teeth as they grinded against the metal of the pull. 

The pouch opened completely onto his lap, each tool held by an elastic. They had rubber handles and steel tips, an accent of yellow along them to match their container. She enjoyed watching his eyes widen as he took them in. Gently, as if they could bite him, he touched the pliers first, before moving onto the screwdriver and its heads. There was also a small spirit level and hook nose pliers, but his eyes simply grazed these without touching them. 

“This one, probably,” she said, picking out the pliers. 

“Yes,” he whispered. “These will make the task easy.”

She nodded, making to rise and move away from him, but he grasped her wrist before she could move. 

“I’m a little scared, Kassandra,” he whispered. “I don’t understand any of this. I’ve never seen much of this before. I’m frightened.”

There was a haste to his voice. Like he was desperately trying to hone the part of him that needed to contain this new fear. She understood it. Even though she’d been here when each new thing came, they always still surprised her. He was seeing many things at once. 

He’d just come to her from the beach where he died. 

He’d just discovered the death of his father.

He’d just found that he wouldn’t be able to raise his son.

And this world wasn’t his: it was foreign, new, terrifying. 

She wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t believe her.

She took his face into her hands and stroked along his stubble of a beard. 

“I know it’s scary, Nat. I know it’s frightening. But I’ll be here with you and we can process it together. I promise. We can go as slow as you want.”

He smiled a half smile. Appreciative of her efforts, but unconvinced. 

“We’ll stay here for a little bit. I have food and a bed. We can stay here until you’re ready to go.”

He nodded, eyeing the cave. 

“Is the world really so different?” he asked. 

“It’s louder and there are more people than you would ever believe. But we can stay in the quiet places. Some places are quiet.”

She left him to go to her rucksack. She knew that he calmed with the use of his hands and repairing her father’s gift might calm him; let him process. 

\--------

“See, this is the parthenon now.”

“I didn’t go to Athens, just saw the temple mount from a distance.”

“Well they’re trying to restore it. It’s good for tourism.”

“Tourism?”

“People travel to other places to see things, rather than to live there.”

He furrowed his brows. “Why?”

“Because people can, I suppose. Not everyone does.”

“Do you tourism?”

She laughed lightly, the English word leaving his mouth with difficulty. “No, I only travel for work or to live.”

“I always wanted to see west of Hellas,” he replied in Ancient Greek. 

Kassandra scowled. “West of Hellas is Italy. Rome.”

He looked at her curiously. “You don’t like this place?”

“No.”

They were sitting together, their backs against the cool wall of the cave, on top of the air mattress Kassandra had inflated. Her laptop sat on her knees and he was leaning into her shoulder, trying to grasp the images she brought up on the screen. 

“What is that?”

They were looking at the wikipedia article for Hellas, or Greece as the article called it. Natakas was pointing to the image on the right, of the territories of Alexandros. 

“There was a conqueror born after the Peloponnesian War. He eventually overtook the Persian empire and all of Greece, except for Sparta.”

“You fought for him?”

“No. I fought for Sparta, and Sparta did not fight for him. No one knew me then. My brothers were dead and no one recognised who I could be. I was just a mercenary.”

He nodded, then shifted his head against her shoulder and kissed her bare skin. “I’m sorry you had to endure this life.”

“My father called it destiny, but most destinies are simply a burden in fancier clothes.”

He laughed lightly in understanding. Then he reached over her lap and gently closed the notebook, yawning. 

“I’d like to go to sleep.”

She looked down at him. His eyes were weary and she could feel the sag of fatigue in his muscles. 

She put the laptop to the side and slid down in the bed next to him, nestling herself in the offered crook of his shoulder. Even after all this time, she fit easily. 

“No bad dreams,” he whispered, nestling his face into her hair. 

“Is that an order?” she replied.

“It’s a promise.”

She closed her eyes thinking, truly and honestly, that when she woke up in the morning, he wouldn’t be there. He was just a figment of her broken mind. That the staff had taken too much of her and he was an echo of her mind’s eye. 

But, still, she heard his breathing even out and the tangibility of his chest under her hand, and instead, she had hope.

\--------

“We might be able to sneak into the UK via France,” Kassandra said over the thrum of the engine. “I could always check you in as luggage, I suppose.”

She said it in English, pronouncing each word carefully. 

“I do not like it,” he replied, also in English. She smiled at him. It was his response when he didn’t understand some of the words, not trusting that she’d said something innocuous. He had good reason: there have been a number of times when he’d agreed to a cold splash of water on his face. 

“We could go back to the cave?”

“No thank you.” He paused, looking out to the modern waters of Hellas. They were in her charter boat, one that had become increasingly expensive in the days they’d spent on Thera. She’d pay through the nose for the privilege. “I want to see.”

“We can switch back if you want?” she said in Ancient Greek. 

He shook his head. “I need to learn.”

His determination spread through her body, a warmth that tingled at her skin and made her face blush. 

“I wrote a list,” she continued in English. “Of things for you. I think I should take you straight to a hotel and then I’ll go and fetch it for you. You can’t wear torn clothing. You’ll attract attention.”

“I do not like it.”

She grinned. “You’re a mess, Nat.”

He shook his head, a mischievous glint in his eye. “ _You’re_ a mess, Kass.”

“Rude.”

She turned back around, grinning, to face the port. 

He was just the same. Gentle, joking, whip-fast. 

She knew that she had changed remarkably, but he hadn’t mentioned it yet. Perhaps, with him here, she would fall back into being the person he remembered. 

“Good afternoon, Sandra!” a man called from the dock. “We expected you a week ago.”

“Yes, Thales. I know. I found something interesting but didn’t want to risk excavating it. It took longer than I expected.”

“I see you also found a friend,” Thales said, reaching for a rope at the front of the charter.

“Yes, Natakas is someone I worked with on my study into Minoan architecture and the-.”

“That’s nice, Sandra,” Thales interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. “You’ll have to come to the office so I can sort out your price.”

Kassandra nodded, turning to Natakas. She made a mocking face to him, but he didn’t laugh in reply. His gaze was trained in the retreating back of Thales, a murderous glint in his eye. 

“Leave it, Nat,” she said in Ancient Greek. 

He turned his eyes to her, the emotion not lost in them. 

“You never used to let that occur.”

“You’re right. I’m not a misthios anymore. And if I didn’t bore Thales with archeology, he might have queried your clothing and where the heck you came from. Please just let me take the lead.”

“Of course, _Sandra_.”

She thinned her lips, but held out a hand to him to help him onto the dock. “Just wait here, please.”

He nodded, and she leant over to peck a kiss onto his forehead, feeling the sweat that beaded there. Whether it was from fear, or the sun, she didn’t know. 

Thales was waiting for her in the stuffy office that sat at the bottom of the hill. He had a pile of paper in front of him and he was rifling through, likely looking for her reservation. 

“You booked just for twenty-four hours,” he said without looking at her. “How did that turn into a week?”

Kassandra shrugged. “What do I owe you?”

“An explanation?”

She laughed mockingly. Perhaps she shouldn’t have. She liked the boats, and this was hardly the last time she would have to travel to the cave. “Money, Thales.”

He shoved a white receipt into her face, a four figure sum attached to it. She passed him her debit card unceremoniously. 

“Is that your boyfriend?” he asked harshly. 

“Yes,” she said simply, ignoring his tone. She was used to men’s interest in her, and she was used to ignoring it. The fact that Natakas, _her Natakas_ , was sitting just outside this office made her even more determined to reject every person who even looked at her. 

Once she was finished, Kassandra gestured to Natakas to follow her up the hill and into town. He couldn’t keep his eyes to himself, looking first to the cars meandering on the road, then to the men and women walking the same path they did, then to the streetlights, starting to turn on. But it wasn’t only that: his, ahh, _authentic_ Persian clothing, which Kassandra had managed to generally sponge clean of his blood, was attracting the attention of onlookers. 

She turned into an alley, where her usual motel sat, and continued to walk along the stone towards the entrance. It was a warm evening, and there was general chatter coming from the restaurant below them.

Kassandra turned to Natakas, just to assess how he was faring, but found him gone. He wasn’t in the alley, he wasn’t behind her.

She cursed under her breath, and ran back to the main street, hoping she’d be able to see his distinctive clothing in the crowds coming onto the street for dinner. 

“Nat?!” She called, eyes flicking over the faces of the people walking up and down the street. 

“Nat!” she called again, sure he had just missed her peeling off into the alley. She wasn’t panicked, not yet. But if she didn’t sight him within the next thirty seconds, she might start.

But then she heard a laugh, then a splash. Her eyes turned to the square, a large fountain gracing its centre surrounded by tourists. The centre spout was about Kassandra’s height, and the clear water cascaded down into the shallow pool below. Coins graced the bottom of the wishing well, the proceeds going to the local school. 

“Kass, come and look at this!” he called, seeing that she’d joined him at the fountain. He was attracting a little bit of attention with his pointing and laughing, gesturing at the water as it was pushed from the stone. 

“It’s a fountain, Natakas,” she said quietly, close to his ear. 

“How does it work?”

“Ahh,” she murmured, the tourists beginning to point at him and the strange language he was speaking. “I can explain it once we’re in the room.”

He looked about them, and his face relaxed carefully into neutrality. She took his hand this time, directing him as the contact warmed her. He squeezed her palm, and she stroked his fingers. 

He watched her as she spoke to the receptionist and followed her as she walked up the stairs in front of him. 

Once they were in the room, she pulled out her laptop to check where the closest men’s clothing store was. He stood at the threshold, eyeing the small space. “This is about the size of the house in Dyme,” he said. 

She turned to him and watched his face. She tried to remember, tried to connect to the person she knew who stood in front of her. His features were carefully neutral, but not unemotional. He was processing what he had to, in his own way. 

“I went back only once, after Elpidios and your father left. I’d made a spot for you because I couldn’t burn you and bury you. So, instead, I buried the token your mother gave you. You know, the one you threw into the sea?”

His face cracked into a smile. “It was only a week ago for me, Kass.”

“Right,” she whispered. She swallowed, her throat unworking. “Well, I never went back after that. I couldn’t bear to.”

“What’s that?” he asked, pointing.

She didn’t answer right away, but thanked him silently for changing the subject. He was dead. He’d never died. 

“A lamp. It makes light.”

“And that?”

“A television,” she said, switching to English. 

“Television,” he repeated, feeling the sounds in his mouth. 

“It makes sounds and images that move.”

He nodded. “What’s that?”

“A shower. You turn on the water, like the fountain, and stand under it to wash.”

“Oh, like a, ahh, water, ah, down?”

She smiled at him. “Like a waterfall, but you can choose for the water to be warm.”

She took him by the hand again and moved him into the bathroom. “Red is hot water, and it gets fairly hot, and blue is cold water. You move these taps to change how much of each comes out of the shower. And you wash under it. The water then goes down the drain.”

He looked at each component as she explained it, diligently touching the taps and attempting to turn them. He first tried the cold, sending a small stream down the wall. 

She didn’t see it, but he glanced at her in the corner of his eye to check where she was standing before turning the water on completely. 

Kassandra yelped as the frigid water cascaded over her, drenching her hair down to her boots. She jumped back as Natakas laughed, watching the water mill around his sandals. It was glee in his laughter, a relaxed happiness in such a small action. She watched his face retrieve its glimmer, the water drenching both of them and almost flooding the bathroom. He’d asked questions, he’d listened to answers, he’d lamented the loss of his father and son and home. But this was the first time she’d seen him truly _laugh_ since he’d come back to her. 

Perhaps they should have left the oppressive nature of the cave earlier. Perhaps she should install a shower. 

She let her mock outrage show. “You have no spare clothes, you know!”

“Do I need them?” he laughed. 

She let half a smile grace her face before banishing it. 

“I’m going to go to the shops. I’ll be back in about an hour. Don’t touch the tv. Don’t touch my laptop. Don’t flood the bathroom.”

She began to turn to leave the bathroom, but slipped slightly when he grabbed her hand and pulled her back under the water. 

He pushed his mouth onto hers roughly, the laugh still there. His arm reached around her waist as he slipped his tongue into her mouth. 

She wasn’t used to this. She hadn’t done this in a long, long time. As he said before, he’d done this a week ago. She’d kissed him in the cave, but not in the hungry way he was devouring her now. She’d forgotten what this felt like: how she could be so easily engulfed in his touch and his need of her. The water made her skin slick and his hands moved about her expertly. 

She came up for breath, letting her face tilt back to watch his eyes as they darted between hers. 

“What is it?” he whispered, hand resting on her neck and rubbing her jaw. 

“I… I’d just forgotten what this feels like.”

“Don’t tell me that you’ve been chaste for two thousand years?”

She furrowed her brow in confusion. 

“I died, Kassandra. And you never moved on?”

She simply shook her head. She didn’t understand the question. Why was he asking her this?

“When I met you, you had a hundred stories of your conquests.”

She extracted herself from him, letting his arms drop to his sides as the water moved over him. 

“The person I was died with you, Nat. Died when I had to let our son go.”

His face fell, misery finding its place in the laughter lines. He reached for her, but she backed away and out of the bathroom. 

“I’ll be back with some clothes for you. Stay in here; wash.”

Then she closed the door on him so he couldn’t see her cry. 

\--------

He was dry when she returned later, but bathed in darkness as he watched the street from the balcony. 

“Natakas,” she called, dropping the reusable canvas bags. “I had to guess your size, but went with a thirty-four in the pant and a medium in the shirt. I also bought you a belt in case this is wrong.” She clicked on a light and saw his defined back shadowed by the way the brightness moved about the room. She hummed almost in disapproval. “You can’t be outside naked, Nat. You’ll attract attention.”

“Maybe I want to,” he said flippantly, sending a spent flower over the edge. He turned to her, shoulders square. “Can you explain earlier, please? I want to understand.”

Her breath hitched before she was able to respond. 

“You died,” she whispered, bending down to get a pair of jeans from the bag. “You died and nothing was ever the same.”

Kassandra stood with the pants and walked over to him, gently measuring them against his hips. If they weren’t the right size, then the belt would fix them. She just needed to prepare him; to allow herself the mercy of the thought that he could join this life with her. That she wouldn’t be alone. And the next step of that would be clothing him; teaching him a new language; letting him adjust to whatever this was. 

But, then, she knew what would happen. He would die, just as their son did. And she would outlive him again. 

He gently took her hands and she let the pants fall. 

“I’m not dead, Kassandra. And neither are you.”

Then why did she feel cold? Why was she reacting to his touch as if it could kill him? Why was she so desperate to acclimatise him so that he could stay with her, even though she’d said goodbye to him long ago?

She let him place his arms around her. She let him bring her head against his bare chest. She let him pick her up and put her in his lap once he’d settled on the bed that they would share. But, most of all, she let him whisper assurances to her that he was there for her, and that he wasn’t going anywhere. 

And she let herself believe him. 

It began with small kisses along her hairline. It turned into gentle touches down her neck and into her shoulders. She didn’t reply, except to ease into the gaps he left and move to allow him greater space to place his love. He bit the tip of her shoulder, in a way she’d forgotten, and she gasped with the feeling. Warm all over, just quietly remembering the man that she’d lost. Her face eventually turned to him and he was soft at first; testing. She didn’t blame him, with how she’d reacted earlier. 

Quietly, easily, she shifted in his lap so that she straddled him. He was still naked from the shower, the light cascading down his front to reveal the myriad of scars that adorned his chest. She gently traced them, mind turning to the still haunted memories of how they were received. This one was from Patrai, when a mercenary had tracked her and sought her blood. He was good with a bow, but needed to wield a blade with her. This one was from Patrai also, but from when they’d scouted the ship builders, looking for the tempest. This one, however, was from Makedonia. He’d saved her then, too, an arrow finding its mark. 

He pulled her face down to his and she pressed hard against him. It felt right; whole. Like the world was contained just in this terrible hotel room on this beautiful island. 

He groaned slightly as she grinded her hips against his, the want building in him. He slipped his hands down to the top of her thighs, forgetting the new burden of modernity.

“Women shouldn’t wear pants,” he whispered, giving up on the zipper.

She giggled as he turned her over roughly, landing her in the bed beneath him. He almost ripped her hardy shorts as he attempted to tear them off her. She laughed some more, shifting and curling her body so it was easier for him. 

“Get used to it,” she replied, once he’d successfully thrown them onto the balcony. She knew he’d aimed for the street, to be rid of them forever, and she honestly didn’t care. 

“I saw a woman wearing a dress downstairs,” he murmured, muffled by her neck as he kissed it. 

“Maybe you should buy me one.” Her voice was breathy, curt, wanting.

“I’d prefer you in nothing.”

And he crushed his lips to hers, silencing the retort. He smoothly removed her t-shirt just to come face to face with an extra layer underneath. 

“It’s called a bra,” Kassandra explained, a wry smile framing her face. “And I’m not telling you how to get it off.”

“You tease me,” he whispered against her left ear.

“I have years to make up.”

He flipped her over so she laid on her stomach, running his fingers over the elastic. “It’s so binding. Why do you bother?”

“Because the t-shirt is thin. And it’s the accepted thing.”

He grunted his disapproval. She smiled into the sheets, knowing it wouldn’t take him long to figure out. 

She felt one hand drag along the skin that sat under the bra, and closed her eyes to the tickle it created. 

“You tease me, Kassandra. But you forget that I _know_ you.”

While one hand was musing over the bra, he touched her lightly between her thighs with the other, making her body jolt into the bed. 

“I know you better than you remember,” he whispered, stroking her gently and easily. 

He unclipped the bra without effort, but his hands remained moving against her as she pushed the top of her body into the bed. It was too much; too well done; almost methodical. 

She rolled over, flicking his hand away as she did it. It didn’t even make him pause as he reached for her again, this time kissing her thoroughly.

It was hunger, and she was hungry. She needed him close, near her, with her. 

He plunged into her, causing her to gasp. It didn’t stop as her breath came in short bursts and he moved his body with hers. She’d forgotten. She’d forgotten all of this. She’d forgotten so well that she didn’t think she even needed this anymore. 

And yet here he was. And here she was. Together. 

The crest came fast, causing her body to convulse as he continued his rhythm, fighting her for the right to touch her as she cried out. He moved his hand and grasped her hip as his goosebumps erupted, the quality of his thrusting going deeper than she could have imagined; stronger than she could have hoped for. 

Then they lay together, panting, grinning like idiots at each other and embracing how _right_ it felt. 

Then Kassandra lost her smile, her mind forgetful in the sublime light that was him. 

“They have these great new inventions called contraceptives,” she began. 

He hummed in reply, just relieved and in a sleepy daze. 

She leant over and kissed the tip of his nose. “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

Then she fell asleep, listening to him snore. 

\--------

She had to sneak him in. He didn’t have any papers, and she didn’t have access to anyone who could fake him any in the timeframe she needed. It wasn’t that difficult, in the end. 

He was more impressed by her London apartment than by any of the accommodation they’d stayed in since the cave. 

It was a split level loft, industrial and built above a gym but with access to a roof terrace above them. She used to have a telescope up there, but it had become increasingly useless as the years wore on. 

Natakas seemed particularly taken with the roomba. 

“Why is it making that noise?” he asked. 

“It’s just asking to be emptied,” she replied dismissively, like she was explaining to a child what the seasons meant.

“Emptied of what?”

“Dirt. It collects dirt from the floor.”

“Ah. Like a broom.”

“Yes, but I don’t have to do it. The roomba does it for me.”

“But you could, say, just use a broom?” he said sardonically.

She sighed, directing her eyes skyward. “Feel free to use a broom, Nat. In fact, feel free to buy one because I don’t own one.”

He chuckled as she walked away and into the kitchen. Looking over his shoulder to make sure she wasn’t watching, he gently touched the white disk that sang to him, and moved his fingers along it. For some reason, he wanted to treat it like a dog. 

“Are you…?” she whispered. He shot a look at her, caught in the action. “Are you petting my roomba?”

“No, no,” he said, straightening. 

Her eyes gleamed in laughter. “You _were_.”

“Well, it’s doing a task and it’s small and it’s singing.”

She burst into laughter, covering her mouth. 

It was his turn to sigh. “You said you had some work-thing tonight?”

Her eyes darkened a little. “Yes. A benefactor is having a party. He’s donating a sum of money to the Greek Exhibit.” She paused, putting her palms out in apology. “I have to go.”

“No, no, you go,” he said, genuinely. “Of course.”

“You can come with me!” she blurted. Truth be told, she couldn’t bear to be in a different room to him, let alone a different building. 

“I don’t know…”

“No, no. Your English is definitely passable. You could be my date.”

He looked at her with amusement. “What? _Here’s my date, Natakas, father of my son, the man I thought died two thousand years ago_?”

Her lips curled a little. “I thought, _Here’s Natakas, he’s a grad student from Greece, specialising in ancient languages. He’s fluent in Ancient Greek and Old Persian, try it on him._ ”

He smiled at her too. 

“And none of them know that much about me on purpose. I could be in a serious relationship and they would have no idea.”

He stepped closer to her, pushing her hair back from her face. The intimacy of the gesture sent a warm buzz through her fingers.

“You _are_ in a serious relationship, Kassandra.”

A grin split her face. “Yes. We are.”

It didn’t take them long to get ready. Though Kassandra was a part of the department, she was just a guest curator. Her most recent degrees were only masters. She had to repeat the university process every twenty years or so and her PhDs were out of date. 

“Are you ready?”

“Yes, my love,” he whispered when she took his hand as they walked along the pavement. “I still can’t believe light is this easy to get. Sewing must be so simple.”

“Spinning too. Everything’s easier with light.”

“Ahh, Sandra! How wonderful to see you!”

“Bernice,” Kassandra replied, shaking the tall, brunette woman’s hand. “This is Natakas, my…” she paused. He wasn’t her boyfriend. He wasn’t her husband. “...partner.”

“Oh, I didn’t know our Sandy was seeing anyone. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Natakas.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” he replied, shaking the woman’s hand how he’d seen Kassandra do it. He had no idea how much pressure to apply. 

“Do you work in the classics too, Natakas?” Bernice asked, sparing a glance at Kassandra. 

“I study languages: Ancient Greek and Old Persian,” he replied without a pause. He hoped these were classics.

“Oh, you’d like to meet Matt, then. He’s our resident translator.”

“I’d like to, yes.”

“Here, I’ll introduce you,” she said, pulling Natakas along by his elbow. She shot a look behind her shoulder at Kass. “Sandra, Joel is waiting with Mr Cummins, if you could please go and make yourself known to him?”

“Sure thing,” Kassandra said, watching the light confidence in Natakas’ eyes. She knew it was misplaced. She’d forgotten that Matt was going to be here. 

He was directed away from her and towards the bar, where a group of men in white linen shirts had their hands around amber liquid. They were laughing uproariously, patting each other on the back. Natakas wasn’t intimidated: he wanted to know more about Kassandra’s life, and these men were a part of it. He had to start somewhere.

Bernice singled out one man in particular: a man with blonde hair and sharp brown eyes. Natakas thought he looked Greek, if they weren’t in a country far from there. 

“Matt, this is Natakas. He’s a student specialising in the Ancient languages and he was keen to meet you.”

Keen isn’t exactly the word Natakas would have used. He’d much prefer to be nailing Kass to her bed at her apartment, but she had to be here and he wanted to support her. 

“Natakas, Matt is a translator of Ancient Greek. He’s translated much of Thucydides and Herodotos. It’s almost ready for publishing, isn’t it?”

Matt nodded, smiling lightly. If Natakas didn’t know any better, he’d say this man was a bit drunk. 

“So, Natakas,” Matt said, nodding to Bernice. “Know a little of Ancient Greek, eh?”

Natakas shrugged. “More than I originally wished to,” he said in the language. This earnt a laugh from Matt and querying looks from the men around them. “And I know more Ancient Greek than I know English,” he said in the latter, looking down at his hands deferentially. 

“I think Thucydides was easier to translate than Herodotos. Tell me, which do you prefer?”

Natakas knew his answer, because he’d only heard of one of those men. Met him, too, a few times on the Adrestia. 

“I like Herodotos’ stories of the Spartans. Though questionable, through an Athenian lens.”

“True. No other sources exist, though.”

Natakas furrowed his brows. Not questioning the man, but rather reacting to how much of his world had been lost. 

“So, is Ancient Greek your only muse?” Matt asked, taking a long draw of his drink. 

“Old Persian, too,” he said. “Do you know it?”

“No, there’s nothing interesting about Persia. Alexander rooted them.”

Natakas just nodded, ignoring him and looking gently around for Kass. 

“What brings you to this room, then? Is your supervisor here?”

“No, K-, Sandra is a friend of mine.”

“Oh, Sandra of the Greek halls?” Matt asked, putting his drink down. 

Natakas nodded. “We met in Greece.” Hardly a lie. 

“You’re a friend of hers? I’ve been trying to nail her for years. I’m almost her boss, but she still says no.”

Natakas didn’t wonder why, with the charming words coming from his mouth. He felt the lick of anger course through his chest, like a hot wind pushing a wildfire. He’d had this feeling before, of course, when other men were emotionally rough with her. Her father, for instance, had elicited a similar response when he’d demanded consideration when he’d first met Natakas. He’d demanded to have a say in their partnership; calling on her Spartan duty. Elpidios was already within her at that point, and he would never have accepted a challenge from the man who threw her from a cliff. She loved her father, but his words cut her as deeply as any sword.

Matt’s scoff brought him back to the room; back from the past. 

“She doesn’t date, though,” Matt continued, his tone scathing. “Wasteful, if you ask me. With an arse like that.”

His hands clenched into fists, but Matt just kept talking. 

“And she’s so reclusive. I didn’t realise that she had any friends. I wonder what’s wrong with her. Does she have a third nipple or something, do you know? You’re her friend, what do you think?”

“I think you should stop talking,” Natakas said in Ancient Greek. His fists were almost shaking in his rage, ready to beat the man in front of him to a pulp. Was this time really so brash? So assuming?

“And why is that?” Matt replied in English. 

“Because she’s my wife, and, with her permission, I’d happily kill you where you stand.”

Matt’s mouth opened and shut many times as he processed the information. 

“She’s not married,” he dismissed, with a wave of his hand. “She would have told me if she was married.”

“Did she tell you about our son?” Natakas asked, deadly and quiet. Even without Kass’ permission, he might murder this man. 

He gaped again. “No. But she… I don’t think… No, she would-.”

“Move along, Matt,” Natakas continued in Greek. 

He turned from the man and stalked across the room, looking for Kassandra. 

How dare they? _How dare they_ speak about her in such a manner? The woman who was strong and smart and beautiful and cunning. The woman with Kings’ blood and a sense of justice that ran through her veins just as easily as sweat across her body? The woman who watched the world, stranded in time, and who thought her destiny was loneliness. 

And these people spoke of her so _poorly_.

Natakas couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t fathom a world where she wasn’t the centre and everyone bowed to her. 

“Nat?” He heard the sound like a squeak, coming from a group of people close to the stairwell. He turned towards it and smiled in a relaxed, non-murderous way. 

“Sorry,” she said, reaching for his hand and squeezing it.

“For what?” he replied, landing a kiss on her cheek. 

“For not preparing you. I could smell your fury from here.”

“All for you, my love. Also, I told Matt that we were married, so probably keep that going.”

She didn’t blanch, and a part of his chest bloomed in recognising it for what it was. Almost a promise. 

“Mr Cummins, this is my husband, Natakas. Natakas, this is Mr Cummins. He’s generously donated in order to keep my work going.”

“A pleasure, Mr Cummins,” Natakas said. 

“Natakas?” the old man said. “Is that Persian?”

“Yes. My parents are Iranian, wanted to maintain ancient links.”

“Wonderful, wonderful.”

“Natakas is also fluent in Old Persian, sir,” Kass prompted. 

“Are you now?” Cummins said in the language. 

Natakas’ face lit up, smiling. “I am. It’s like a mother tongue to me.”

“Mine is not so good, but I try,” Cummins replied. He surveyed Natakas through his greying eyebrows. “Perhaps you could teach me, Natakas?”

He smiled politely, eyes glancing in Kassandra’s direction to check her reaction. Her face was closed and unreadable. He turned back to Cummins. 

“Perhaps, seeing as you’re paying for my wife’s job. I’d be happy to.”

Cummins laughed boisterously, and Natakas suddenly dreaded that he’d said the wrong thing, deep in his gut. 

“Sandra is an incredibly welcome addition to the Museum. Her knowledge of the Peloponnesian War is unmatched. Do you know much about it?”

“Yes, a little. Of Brasidas’ triumphs, and how he essentially ended it.”

He felt Kass still next to him. He thought it must have been at the mention of the General, but then Cummins furrowed his brow in confusion. 

“A language expert, did you say?”

“Yes, sir,” Kassandra confirmed, interjecting. “Not as much history.”

Cummins nodded hesitantly. Natakas smiled as Kassandra took the man’s email address to set up possible Persian lessons. 

“I think you’d be good at it,” she told him as they walked back to her apartment. “Teaching. You’re patient ... generally.”

“Yes, I should get awards for patience, considering what I had to listen to tonight.”

“You’re mad at me,” she said, stopping on the cobbled street and turning to him. 

He didn’t meet her eye. He just looked down at his writhing hands. 

“Because…?” she prompted. 

“Because people treat you poorly, and you let them.”

He still wasn’t looking at her. Maybe he couldn’t stand to look at her. Maybe she’d changed too much, irrevocably. 

“Why should that bother you?”

He looked up sharply, chin jutting towards her. 

“Because you deserve better,” he said simply, a growl coming from deep in his throat. “You deserve better than how people, how _men_ , speak to you.”

“Is this about Matt?”

“No, it’s not about one man. It’s about all of them.”

“This is about Matt,” she countered. “The man’s an arse. I just ignore him.”

“May I kill him?” Natakas said in a deathly quiet voice.

She tilted her head to the left, eyeing the glint in his eye. 

“No. You’re not allowed to kill him.”

Natakas thinned his mouth, ready to tell her exactly why such a man should be killed. 

“I’m sorry the world is so different, Nat,” she continued, reaching for his hand and squeezing it. “I used to be able to demand respect with a blade, but there’s almost nothing that will command it now. No matter what I do, people think me lesser because society has shifted around me.”

“It’s not right,” he whispered.

“I’m just…” she began, losing her voice halfway through. He stroked her face with the back of his hand: gentle encouragement. She took a breath and began again. “I’m just so relieved that you’re here.”

“I’m here,” he repeated, kissing her forehead and stroking her arms. “But I hate people speaking to you in this way.”

She sent him a weak smile, and it spoke volumes. She’d been thoroughly and effortlessly diminished by her so-called destiny, and by the loneliness it brought. She was a shadow of who she could be, of who was still inside her. Natakas knew it was there: the fire, the spark from flint. He’d seen it when he’d bedded her in Santorini, he’d seen it when she’d managed them through the border. Hell, he’d even seen it when he’d patted her roomba. 

He just had to encourage her back out. Remind her that she could live again. 

“Sandra…?” a weak voice said from the darkness. 

Natakas went very still: calculating; wondering why Kass wouldn’t just let him kill the dude. 

“Go home, Matt. You’re drunk.” 

“No,” he slurred, walking along the pavement in front of them. “I wanna know-” hiccough, “-what this guy has that I-” hiccough, “-don’t.” He drove a long finger into Natakas’ chest, poking him accusingly. 

Natakas could think of many things he had that Matt didn’t. His reflexes, for one. 

Kassandra pulled him back before he could react, placing herself between them. 

“Go _home_ , Matt.”

“Not without you. I deserve it. I’ve earnt the right.”

Kassandra laughed in his face, making it turn from the cheery red of drink to the furious scarlet of rage. She continued laughing, shaking her head as her chestnut hair cascaded down her back. It smelt intoxicating, and Natakas was entranced despite the danger she was in. 

“I owe you nothing. Go _home_ ,” she managed, still giggling. 

Matt was shaking, his hands balled into fists. 

“You’ve been flirting with me for weeks!” he yelled, gesticulating. “And you wear skimpy clothes to digs! You were sending me signals!”

Kass went very quiet. She’d seen this before: she’d never met a woman who hadn’t. The cool and assured claimant, seeking their due. 

“I’m married, Matt,” she whispered, suddenly fearful. Not bodily: she wasn’t scared that he would take her against her will or anything like that. No. 

She simply remembered that she was a guest curator, and Matt was their resident translator. Matt had a permanent job. Matt could make her lose her position. 

Because that was the way of it. Mercy was forced from unlikely sources. 

Natakas put his hand lightly on her shoulder, reminding her that he was there. A steadying touch that centred her and her resolve. He was right, of course. People shouldn’t speak to her this way. 

“No, you aren’t,” Matt garbled. “I’ve never even heard of this bloke before.”

He went to poke another finger into Natakas’ chest, but the Persian caught it and twisted the wrist with no effort at all. 

“Let me make myself abundantly clear,” he said in Ancient Greek. “Kassandra is my wife. If you lay a finger on her, I will break it. If you speak a poor word to her, I will seek you out and cut out your tongue. And if you threaten her in any way, shape, or form, I will, personally, gladly, ensure that you lose everything. Understood?”

Matt’s face contorted in pain, Natakas curling his fist towards him and on the verge of breaking his wrist. 

Then he let go without snapping the bone, and simply pointed down the lane in the opposite way to where they were going. Matt scarpered, unwilling to test Natakas further. 

Once he was gone, Natakas took a breath, expelling his worries to the air. 

“He could get me fired, Nat,” Kass whispered. 

He rifled through his pockets, still not understanding why the openings were so small but the space within them was so big, and pulled out Cummins’ business card. He showed it to Kass, waving it in front of her nose. 

“No, he can’t.”

She smiled, the lines around her eyes sharpening. She was overwhelmed by him. The feeling spread from just under her ribs, through her dormant veins, and into the tips of her fingers. It made her want to leap into the river and swim to the other side. It made her want to build a house. It made her want to wield a blade and feel the thrum of battle. 

It was hope, and love, and the reminder that he was so, so tangible. 

Her smile turned into a grin as she considered him in his modern clothing, the business card still in his hand. 

“I love you, you know?” she said, easily.

“I know,” he replied, putting the card back into his pocket. He draped his arm over her shoulder and began walking down the street again. “But I have a question.”

“Yes?”

“Is there something I have to do to marry you? Like for real? In Persia, we give gifts. I know in Sparta there’s usually an arrangement with your father, and a ceremony the following Gamelion. But what are the rituals now?”

“I don’t need it, if you don’t need it,” she whispered, head leaning into his shoulder. 

“I’m happy if you’re happy.”

“Well, if you’re happy, I’m glad.”

“I don’t like it.”

She laughed, the sound tinkling through the street. 

“I love you too, Kass.”

\--------

One Year Later

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she said, assuredly. “Wait, no. A little towards the window.”

He shifted the weight of the painting five centimeters towards the window, straining to keep it upright. 

“Here?”

“Yes.”

He waited, sensing further instruction. 

“Wait, maybe up a little?”

He pushed it up a little and retrieved a pencil from his pocket. He marked the centreline, where he knew the hook would go, and the edge. He was estimating, but he was good at it. 

“Do you think it suits the room?” she asked, reaching for the table and picking a grape from the bowl at its centre. “Not too dark?”

“A murder scene; nah,” he said as he shook his head. 

She laughed, letting it ring. The painting had taken six months from commission to delivery, and Kassandra had taken the liberty of painstakingly requesting final touches to the scene. The artist would probably never work with them again.

Thermopylae. The Battle. Persian and Spartan, disconnected; brutal. But the artist had played with light and colour. Natakas didn’t feel defeated when he looked at the painting: why should he? His people had won. But his eyes were drawn to his wife, and the adoration she felt for the scene. It was a mix of bodies, but no blood. There was a thrum through it, an almost auditory recognition in the movement. She could hear the clashes; she could smell the mud. 

He shook his head at her. He certainly didn’t miss the brutality of BCE. He missed his father. He missed Dyme. Hell, he even missed Alexios. 

He refused to think of missing Elpidios. It was still a gaping wound. It was still undone. He should be teaching him about the moon and the stars, about Anahita and Neema. But, instead, all he had was the flax woven blanket that had been his and the soft cooing voice he remembered. His son’s voice would never leave him; of this he was certain. 

“Nat?”

Natakas startled out of the reverie, Elpidios’ face disappearing behind his eyes. He gave her a weak smile. 

“I know what you’re thinking about,” she whispered, eyes not leaving his as she moved towards him. “And I know that it never truly leaves.”

He sighed, accepting her arms around his waist. 

“I don’t want him to think we’ve forgotten about him,” he whispered back, stroking her hair. “I don’t want him to think we’re replacing him.”

“My mater used to liken it to a cup. You fill the cup with wine, and that’s your love for your child. And when another cup comes along, you don’t then halve the wine between the cups, filling each halfway. Instead, you just fill the new cup to the brim. Two cups, full of wine.”

He smiled a little, for her sake at least. Part of him didn’t believe her even though most of him wanted to. 

“You won’t forget him, my love.”

“You told me that you forgot the sound of my voice.”

“But when I heard it, I recognised it. It never truly left me.”

She trailed her hands up his bare arms, feeling the warmth peeking under his skin. Him, whole. 

“Come on. We have to hurry if we’re going to make the party. Ridiculous thing.”

“No, you deserve it,” he practically screamed, mood changed. 

“No, I don’t. It only happened because you’re Mr Cummin’s favourite person in the world.”

“Yes, you do. You’ve worked hard, and it shows. The Greek Halls are more popular than they’ve been in years.”

“That’s popular culture, not me,” she countered, sitting heavily on a stool next to the island bench. “Percy Jackson did that.”

He quirked an eyebrow, disbelieving. “So popular culture, Mr Cummins, and I, all conspired to make you a resident curator? Bullshit,” he laughed. “Who’s Percy Jackson?”

She waved a hand at him, dismissing his question. To be honest, she’d only read the wikipedia article so she could engage with the kids that came into the exhibit: she didn’t really know.

He stood in front of her, cupping her chin with his hands. “Repeat after me.”

“No.”

He thinned his mouth. She thinned hers. 

“I deserve to be a curator.”

“No, Nataka-.”

“I. Deserve. To. Be. A. Curator.” he repeated, enunciating in English. He gently rubbed along her neck, whispering a touch to her scalp and hair. Then he kissed her forehead, trailing down her hairline and towards her ear. She could barely think when he did this, he knew. 

“I deserve everything,” he said, coaxing her to repeat him. 

“I don’t deserve you,” she replied, eyes hooded and dark. 

His kissing went lower, along her shoulder and down to her soon to be exposed collarbone. Her flesh erupted at the touch, goosebumps following his mouth as he trailed down. 

“You deserve it all, Kass. Every good thing. You work hard, you maintain your responsibilities, you accept burdens you shouldn’t carry. That’s who you are.”

She sighed as his hands began to trace her veins, seeking the feeling of relief that trailed through her. It was her primary anxiety. The burden. The destiny. The horrible fate her father had yoked her with. Even now, at this moment, Natakas was aging. Already, he was leaving her behind. 

“Nat?” she murmured.

“Mhmm,” he hummed, kissing lower now, along the tops of her thighs.

“I’m going to outlive this one, too,” she whispered, her fear escaping to the wind. She’d held it inside for too long. 

He quieted his touch, gathering himself. He couldn’t share this burden. He couldn’t take it from her. 

“Kassandra, why does it need doing?”

“What?” Surprise. She was rarely surprised anymore. 

“You talk of destiny. Why must you protect these objects?”

“Because otherwise they could be wielded to destroy the Earth.”

“They’re doing a fine job of destroying it without the help of the artefacts.”

She pursed her lips. 

“Destroy them, Kass.”

She shook her head. “No, I have to protect them.”

“They’re destroying you!”

“I’m their guardian. I can’t walk away from this.”

“So you choose misery, then?”

She shook with hurt, like he’d slapped her across the face. She pushed him away from her, extracting his hands from under her skirt. 

“You don’t understand,” she said, getting to her feet. 

“You’re right,” he replied, slumping his shoulders almost in defeat. “These things took me from my time; took me from my son, from you. They drained your lifeforce until there was almost nothing left. And yet, still, you watch for shadows that will never come. It’s a ruse.”

She worked the muscles of her throat almost to the point of pain. He was right. What he was saying was true. But she couldn’t just leave these things. She couldn’t leave her post. She’d stood guard for thousands of years.

But she also wanted peace. She wanted Natakas. She wanted to ease into life without this burden. She wanted to enjoy the child currently growing, without watching them grow and die like a flower caught in a drought. 

She couldn’t have both. 

She couldn’t have both. 

“Do you want to go to the party?” she whispered, laying a single palm on his slanting shoulder. He looked up at her with tears lining his eyes, pleading silently. 

“I want you to be happy,” was all he replied. 

But he stood and his hand found hers. He pulled it to his mouth, kissing each knuckle. 

“Yes, I want to go.”

She nodded only once, before turning to the bathroom to shower and dress. 

\--------

“Natakas, my boy!”

“Good evening, Cummins,” Natakas replied, taking his hand. He knew how to shake hands now, and he knew he’d applied too much pressure the first time he’d done it. 

“And our Sandy!” Cummins said, taking Kassandra’s hand. “The jewel that has doubled admission.”

She smiled lightly. Turned out you didn’t need stolen artefacts to pique interest in an exhibit, you just needed human stories. 

And apps. 

She’d collected a few things that needed returning to her home country, but they hadn’t yet gone back. A trip was planned for next week. 

“How goes your lessons?” Kass asked in Old Persian. 

“Ahh, well, I think,” Cummins replied, glancing at his tutor. Natakas was nothing if not gently encouraging. Kass knew that it was this fact that made him such a fantastic father. A smooth disciplinarian. A small, curt word was all it took. 

Kassandra loved him for it. 

“Very well,” Natakas corrected. “And…”

Cummins took the hint, glancing from Natakas to Kassandra with a wide grin beginning on his face. “I’ve decided to fund Natakas.”

Kassandra looked between her husband and her boss, confused. “Fund him for what?”

“To run classes through the museum.”

Kass’ mouth opened in surprise, her lips curling upwards. “That’s fantastic!”

Natakas looked a little sheepish under her praise. He was good at teaching, yes, and he was a native speaker of Persian, and essentially one of Greek. 

Cummins smiled too, glad to have such a great resource in the hands of the museum. They would prove very valuable, the pair of them.

Later, as Natakas and Kassandra stood on the balcony overlooking the river, he pushed a strand of hair back from her face and took her in, moonlit. 

“I remember the first night we spent together in Dyme,” he said, hand sliding down her face. “I remember your jokes, your touch, how your knee grazed mine as we sat under the stars on a rooftop.”

“I remember you being handsy,” she giggled. 

“I remember the way you yelped my name,” he replied, a low growl in his voice that awoke something in her. 

“I remember not caring who heard.”

He smirked at that, knowing that the whole forest had heard her. 

He leant in and kissed her forehead, hand going gently to her stomach. She was slightly showing, not enough under her loose-fitting clothing, but enough that when he felt the swell there, he gasped. No one else knew. It was nobody else’s business, by his calculation. 

“Speech time!” came the voice of Bernice, ringing out to them on the balcony. “Don’t monopolise her, Natakas.”

He let her go, shepherded by the brown-haired woman into the throng. Natakas followed at a distance, walking to the bar to order two drinks. A non-alcoholic cider looked the same within a glass, and no one would be any wiser.

He turned around, both drinks in hand, and made his way over to his wife. 

Or, at least, he’d intended to. He sighed inwardly, knowing that any scene could ruin the night for her, as a furious looking man stood before him. 

“I’ll save you the trouble,” Matt said, taking one of the drinks. Natakas held onto it, refusing to relinquish it. 

He didn’t speak, he just stared the Greek man down until his grip lessened and Natakas took the mug back. 

“I fucked her, you know,” Matt whispered, eyes gleaming, seeking a reaction. Natakas refused to give him one. He refused to be the reason for this night being ruined. 

“While we were in Syracuse last spring. I kissed her mouth and the rest of her. She screamed when she took me inside her.”

Natakas’ face was blank. His eyes were dark, but they were the only part he allowed freedom to emote. The man in front of him was nothing. He’d been pining after Kass, and she’d given him absolutely nothing. Natakas knew that; he knew these were lies. He also knew that Matt had been asking to teach the classes that had recently fallen to Natakas. His ears were piqued to the front of the room, where Kassandra was currently speaking. Where he should be to support her. 

“That baby is probably mine.”

Natakas lost his temper. He, gently and thoughtfully, turned to the man next to them and offered him the drinks. The man took them, blanching at the look of cool and collected fury on Natakas’ face. 

Then Natakas clipped his fist at Matt’s jaw, breaking it and rendering him unable to speak further. The man fell to the ground, moaning. But, just as he cried out, the crowd applauded for Kassandra, and no one heard his protests. Natakas took the drinks back from his neighbour, stepped over Matt, and made to the stage to find his wife. 

“... so I’d like to raise a toast…” Kassandra paused, looking around for a drink to toast with, and, seeing Natakas approach her with a full one, reached and thanked him silently, “... to history: may it never lose its voice.”

Natakas raised his mug with everyone else, the cheering continuing as Kass walked off the stage and towards him. He enveloped her in his arms, smelling her hair and revelling in her ability. And for once, he didn’t feel alone in that. Every person here was here for her, they were here to see her success and celebrate with her. 

“I’m proud of you, Kass,” he whispered. 

“Thank you, my love,” she replied. They swayed there for a moment, the swell of the crowd helping them forget where they were. 

“And I have a surprise for you,” he said, reaching his hand into his pocket. He drew out a short piece of paper, a printed copy of an email. She saw that he’d printed the whole email, including the head of it and the tabs across the top. Wait, no. He’d print-screened the email and printed the resulting image. She smiled quietly, knowing that he was still learning. 

Then she looked at the content. The email signature. The Congratulations across the top. 

“What is this…?” she whispered. 

“I bought you a farm in Dyme. Varda. It has a citrus grove and some ruins near a river. No house yet, but I want to build one for you.”

She couldn’t speak, she could barely hear. 

“We can split our time. But it’s my home, where I was with you. I want to be there again.”

She turned her face towards him, tears shining and pouring down her face. 

“You don’t like it,” he said, resigned. 

She laughed at him. She laughed right in his face. She stared him straight in the eye as she laughed at him. 

“Don’t like it? Nat, this is perfect.”

“It’s where we were with Elpidios. So I’d like to think he’d be watching on as we raise his brother.”

She nodded, and let him engulf her in his arms again, forgetting everything else. Just the man in front of her and the hope he’d brought. She hadn’t cried in all the time he’d been back. The gulfing hole in her chest was soothed by him, by his touch, by his words, by his assurances. It was all she ever wanted. It was all she could hope for. 

\--------

“I have to go back to the cave,” she said over breakfast. Eggs and bacon and toast. English. No fruit.

“We finish up the current term in two weeks. Can it wait until then?” he asked, spreading pepper over his eggs. 

“No, I found another weapon that needs to be placed there. It can’t wait.”

“Then I’ll take leave and come with you. I’m sure Matt’s face is healed enough to say “I’m a piece of shit” in greek; he might be able to substitute.”

“Why did you hit him?” she asked for the hundredth time. 

“I’m not telling you,” he replied for the hundred and first. 

She thinned her mouth at him, but didn’t relent.

“Did he call you stupid?”

“No.”

“Did he call _me_ stupid?”

“No.”

“Did he say I’d fucked my way to my position?”

“...no.”

Her eyebrows shot up, and he silently cursed his pause. 

“So he said I fucked him, then?”

“Kass, it isn’t important,” he said, putting his fork carefully down onto the handwoven placemat. 

“So he did,” she said, coldly furious. Natakas wasn’t looking at her, but her tone made him snap his eyes to her. She was angry, yes. She was Alekto, yes. 

And this was the first time he’d seen it since he’d arrived here. He remembered this part of her clearly: the part that sought the heads of those who slighted her; the part that made men beg for mercy before her blade. The part that had filled Hades’ beaches. 

He stood and engulfed her in a kiss, rough and heady. He pulled her towards him and bit her lips, crushing her face and likely bruising her. He loved her, of course. He loved every part of her. But he’d be a liar if he didn’t acknowledge that the fury she’d withheld, the fury that he’d accepted as an intrinsic part of her, was a piece he’d missed. Her assurance of what she deserved, of what she deigned to let men take from her: he’d missed that.

But here it was, almost returned. Almost a part of her again. 

She didn’t push him away, but she didn’t really understand what was happening. She was angry, upset, mortified. 

Eventually, he pulled away, just searching her eyes and licking his own lips. 

“I broke his jaw because he was speaking poorly of you, Kass,” he whispered. “And I’ll do it again if I have to.”

“I’ll break it myself,” she replied, pulling him back down. 

\--------

It was colder than Natakas remembered. They’d dived down in a frosty morning, the sun barely peeking over the hills, and had emerged shivering. He’d last been here in the high summer, and it was nearly summer again. Perhaps Persephone had been recalled to the underworld. Perhaps her mother was upset with her and sent her away. 

Kassandra stood in front of him and stretched her arms above her head, relieving her shoulders of the strain of the dive.

He could only watch her, agape. Her grace, the way she moved, her hair as she straightened and tied it, her fingers as they searched through her backpack, the slight flick of her nose as water ran down its ridge. She was glorious. She was stunning. She was the answer to every question he’d ever had. 

She turned back towards him, and he missed her grin before she threw a towel at him. 

“Staring is unbecoming,” she said loudly, the sound filling the cave. 

“I don’t care,” he replied, shrugging. “I would welcome the ire of every man if it meant I never had to turn from you.”

She sighed, loosening the ties of her wetsuit and sliding it down her frame. “How do you come up with this stuff?”

“You inspire it.”

He grinned at her facetiously, and she turned from him, huffing. She continued to dress, wiping down her skin with a dry rag, and she could feel his eyes on her the whole time. 

Then she heard it, a small shifting noise coming from the southern side of the cave. There was an entrance there that she didn’t use because it went too deep, but she’d never thought to block it, either. The shuffling continued until a voice joined it: a woman’s voice. 

Natakas was already on his feet, ready to address who disturbed them. His hands were empty, but she knew simply from experience that this didn’t prevent how deadly they could be. He sidled himself towards her silently, placing his body between her and the threat. 

She thought it was sweet, but unnecessary. She placed a calming hand on his forearm, a gentle touch to remind him. 

“To the vault, Nat. I want to see who it is and what they want before I reveal myself.”

He grunted at her, almost a growl, as he listened to the threat loudly exclaim their joy at the architecture. He was piqued to the threat. He was charged and ready to defend the woman behind him, no matter the cost. He’d been doing it since he’d met her and sent an arrow through a man’s eye, and he’d happily do it now. 

“Nat, please.”

He relented, taking her hand and backing towards the vault. She wasn’t shivering, or cold, or even scared, by his reckoning. 

Once they were in the vault, Kassandra gently closed the door to obscure it. It could simply be a bit of strange jutting rock. She opened the peep hole, a sliver of glass separating them from the rest of the cave.

“It’s a woman,” she started. “I’ve seen her before.”

“You have?” Natakas whispered, trying to move her from the door and from danger. 

“Yes. In Egypt a few years ago. She’s part of an organisation that seeks the artefacts.”

“Why are you hiding, then? Isn’t this a part of protecting them?”

Kassandra grimaced at him. 

“Or…?”

“This one’s different,” she explained, looking back out into the cave. “She doesn’t seek them for herself.”

Natakas joined her, leaning over her frame to see.

“Why is she climbing the wall?”

“Likely to activate the artefacts.”

Natakas startled, sure he’d misunderstood. 

“But won’t that destroy the world?”

“No. The artefacts know what’s in your heart when you handle them. They sing to you. They won’t activate for anyone unworthy, killing them instead.”

“That’s why you don’t have to be here all the time,” he whispered, the pieces coming together. He’d wondered why she never came here. Why her destiny was a tether, and yet she never needed to stay by the post. 

She just nodded, watching the woman through the gap. 

“I have an idea. I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”

He waited for her to continue, but she showed no signs of doing so. Instead, she reached into one of the tubs that lined the floor and pulled out some slacks and a button up shirt. 

“Wait here, will you?” she said as she changed. “Let me approach her alone.”

“No,” he said, certainty ringing. “You’re pregnant, and that woman is an unknown. She’s talking to someone, so they might be close by, too.”

“Please trust me.”

“Of course I trust you. I don’t trust them.”

Kass didn’t reply. Instead, she laid her hand gently across his jaw and took in each of his eyes in turn. “It’s okay, my love. I promise.”

Kassandra left the vault before he could protest and before he could draw her back. She’d asked him to wait here, to be a sitting duck while she managed her destiny. 

So he stuck his eye into the peephole, staring, unblinking, as Kassandra made herself known.

Her voice sounded different. It was resounding, formal, _old_. Gone was the youthful beauty he loved. Here, with a different mask, she was all knowing and all powerful.

But, to Natakas, she just sounded exhausted. Tired of the life she’d led, weary of war and famine and pestilence. Ready to go. Ready to give up. 

The creep was small, slight. It began deep in his chest and spread slowly. A dread. A fear. The words she was saying were of defeat, resignation. It was how she’d sounded when he’d first found her, but he was sure that she’d crawled out of that place. He was sure that he’d brought her back to him. 

Sweat started to pour from his forehead as he watched. The feeling grew to encompass him, and soon he was shaking with fear from head to foot. 

She was giving up. 

She was letting herself go.

He heard the keening before he saw her fall. 

He yelled, trying to push the door to the vault open desperately to reach her. Even with all of his strength, the door wouldn’t budge. The rock wouldn’t move. 

He was trapped, with all of her treasures, as she simply disappeared from the world. Vanished, destroyed, the dust on the wind as it circled the damp cave. The bright light that had exuded from her skin disappearing.

He fell to his knees, hands in his hair as he searched the space for her form. Desperate, unwilling to understand. Unwilling to believe. 

He screamed her name, his voice hoarse from the effort. His Kassandra and the child she’d carried, gone. 

Gone forever. 

He knew now. He knew what she’d spoken of when she’d be unable to articulate the depth of her loss of him, of how debilitating it had been. 

He pushed and pulled on the door, urging it open. Begging it to open. She’d locked it on the outside, sealing him in. 

But she couldn’t have known what was going to happen. She wouldn’t have left him in this life. She wouldn’t have risked the child still growing.

Then he heard it. The singing. The gentle lull of whispers that permeated his consciousness and relaxed his mind. 

_Knowledge_ , one said. 

_Power_ , said another. 

_A gift._

He knew where they came from. He knew what they were. He knew that these were the things that had destroyed his wife, his future, their happiness. 

He picked up one of them and threw it against the back wall, shattering the glass that held it. The air fizzled with electricity, bright golden sparks filling the space and bouncing around the walls. 

It felt good to destroy them. It felt right to take what had taken his Kassandra. 

He picked up another one, the one that sang for knowledge, and he threw that one too. It didn’t shatter, but rather crumpled with an almighty screech down to the size of a marble, destroyed. 

Destroyed. Destroyed. Destroyed. They all deserved to perish for what they’d taken. They deserved to be gone for the life they’d taken. Not just that she wasn’t breathing anymore, Gods forbid, but that her existence was lonely and grieving because of these _fucking things_.

He picked up a dagger, and went to throw it too, to make it pay for its crimes, but instead he halted. He waited while the weapon begged for his still hand, offering its services to his grief. It sang, too. But not a song that demanded anything of him. 

Rather, a song that assured him that all would be well. He calmed minutely, mind astute to a trick from the object in his hand. 

Then he thought of the white light that had come from Kassandra’s body, her crumpled form, her essence disappearing into the stone… 

And he was thrown backwards by the force of the wind, a screeching sound stripping his ears. The vault shook, waves of energy rolling through the stone and through Natakas’ body. He covered his tear-soaked face with his hands, praying to anyone that this is what would take the pain away. If his heart was crushed by a stone, he wouldn’t be able to feel it constrict anymore. 

But then he heard coughing and retching, a stomach being forced up and out of a throat. Then he smelt the bile. 

A whimper. The dust was so thick; unseeing. 

A cough again. 

“Nat?”

He took his hands from his face, snapping his head towards the sound. Shuffling. More coughing. Whispering, too. 

“Natakas?”

“Kassandra?” he yelped, storming to his feet and rushing towards the sound. He felt through the air as his hands only found empty space. The vault was large, larger than their bedroom at home, and he pushed through the dust to find her. 

“I’m here,” she coughed, wheezing from the dust. “What happened?”

He didn’t answer. He just sought her.

And he found her. She was sitting next to the shelf that contained her brother’s bracers, breathing heavily and covered in the contents of her stomach. She was wearing the slacks she’d just put on and had a slick of blood coming from her nose. 

“Kassandra, oh _gods_ , Kassandra.”

He couldn’t touch her enough. His hands roamed her frame, her face, her neck, her stomach. She seemed intact. She seemed here. She seemed real. 

“What happened?”

“You _died_ , Kass!” he yelped. 

“What…?” she whispered, taking his hands in hers to still them. 

“You gave the staff to that woman and disappeared completely. You were gone.”

“I…”

He was suddenly furious with her. Anger coursed through him and made it impossible to speak. She sensed his change and pushed her hands to his face, caressing gently. 

“I’m so sorry, Nat. I didn’t know.”

“Yes, you did,” he whispered, barely able to get the words out. They burnt his tongue and sent sand down his throat. “If you didn’t, then you wouldn’t have locked the door.”

She looked behind him, towards the vault door. 

“I’m sorry,” she said again, shaking her head. 

“Why did you put me through that without warning me?”

“Because I didn’t know if it would work.”

“If what would work?”

“Dying. I didn’t know if it would free me of the burden.”

She stood and walked towards the peep hole, looking out towards where she’d died. Layla was near there, the animus covering her face and taking over her senses. 

“I think we can leave, she won’t notice.”

Kass turned and opened her rucksack. Methodically and carefully, she placed her treasures into the bag and pulled the drawstring tight. Natakas watched her from his seated position, unable to believe what had occurred over the half hour just before. 

He’d lost her. She was gone. 

And, almost just as easily, she was back.

It was ridiculous. But, he’d travelled through time to her. He’d been born in Thrake, and he would die two and a half thousand years later. 

“Help me, would you?” she called from across the vault. 

He got to his feet and began piling her things into the bag. This wasn’t going to be her space anymore, after all. She’d relinquished it. 

“I think I’d be happy to die,” she started, pausing when he convulsed next to her, “but not yet.”

He couldn’t reply without strangling words from his mouth, so he didn’t.

“And I wasn’t ready right now, either. But tell me, was it the dagger?”

“What?” he yelped. 

“The dagger. It gifted me with you a year ago, so did it continue by gifting you with me?”

“I…?”

She hummed in assent, negating his need to reply. 

Then she stood and held out her hand to him. “I’m sorry Natakas, truly I am, but can you wait to be mad at me until we’re in Varda before yelling? I want to go home.”

“There’s no house there yet.”

She gently patted the two-man tent she kept in the cave and held out her hand to him again. 

This time, he took it. 

\--------

“Father, I think we should look into organic practices. It’ll bring in more money and the certification isn’t a difficult process. We already run fairly organically. Also, it’ll be another marketing thing we could add to the accommodation website.”

Natakas nodded, sliding his glasses up his nose. “As you say,” he replied in Old Persian to his son’s modern Greek. 

Alex huffed, imitating his mother. He didn’t like speaking Persian, just as he didn’t like it when they switched languages halfway through a conversation.

“Do you want me to run it by Phoibe?” he asked in Farsi. 

Natakas nodded. “And your mother, please.”

Alex nodded, mentally noting the instruction. His father had built the business from the bottom, but Alex and his sister had modernised it. His dad still liked people to call to make bookings. 

Alex shook his head, his dark brown hair falling into his eyes. He’d only just returned to Varda after finishing his Bachelor’s degree, STEM, much to his parent’s chagrin. He had to return to the UK for his honours year, but he’d earnt a reprieve and he wanted to spend it with his family. 

Phoibe was still in high school, her final year coming soon. She was like their father in almost all ways, and she was a savant with languages just as he was. 

Why he insisted that they speak Old Persian, rather than Farsi, or even Greek, Alex would never know. When he was younger, they’d designated a day of the week for each language, and only be able to speak it on that day. His parents had told him that they were fine with his eventual foray into bioinformatics, but he could have sworn he’d heard the earth quake when he’d told them. 

He walked down to the office, a separate building made of mud bricks and full of ‘authentic’ historical artefacts. Alex knew that some of the things here had to be fake: they were simply in too good condition. The Spartan bracers were pristine, but his mother swore they were real. She touched them every now and then, hands fleeting across the insides, almost as if she could still feel the touch of the ancient owner. 

“Mater,” he greeted as he came through the door. 

“Alexios,” she said, beaming at him. “I didn’t know you were home!”

She ran around the edge of the desk and took him into her arms. He towered over her, as his namesake used to, and she crushed herself into his middle. 

“My boy is home,” she muttered.

“Mater, I wasn’t gone for that long.” He pushed her greying hair behind her ear and kissed her on the forehead. “I was talking to dad about some ideas I had for the business.”

“Modernising him, are we?” she laughed. “Trust me, I’ve tried.”

“I have a friend who has offered to build us an app to take bookings and to take the place of the welcome books you have in the apartments. It won’t cost much. And I thought organic farming could attract a different type of crowd.”

She nodded enthusiastically as he rattled off his ideas. He pointed to his fingers as we went, spilling his bright mind into the room and almost blinding her with it. 

He was smart, strong, capable. He was his father in looks, as Phoibe and Elpidios were, too, but this one was very, _very_ Spartan in his ideas. He hated dishonestly. He hated cowardice. He loved lamb. 

And as he spoke his mind, she was struck by how his brother should be here too. How they should have known each other, been conspirators, run through the golden fields together. But Elpidios had lived his life, just as Alexios and Phoibe were living theirs. 

Free. Unburdened. 

Loved.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I love my kids!
> 
> Here is a list of things that I wanted to address, but didn't want to drag down the story:  
> Natakas' poor immunity to modern illnesses.  
> Natakas' poor adjustment to modern diets.  
> Natakas' lack of passport (I know I kinda addressed this).  
> Whether Kass still gets her period every month (because they would fucking suck).  
> Whether Natakas did eventually succeed in killing Matt (he does).  
> How Natakas got out of the cave initially when presumably Kass didn't bring a spare scuba kit.  
> How the cameras in the museum storage definitely caught Kass stealing.  
> How Kass is just Stan Lee (RIP) in that scene in Spiderman (you know the one), but it's the Templars and the Assassins behind her fighting because she's just chilling.  
> Whether Kass did eventually get a recent PhD.  
> Also, quietly, how much she hated being called 'Sandy'.
> 
> Thanks again for reading! 
> 
> Like my work? Donate to the NSW/ACT Aboriginal Legal Service!  
> https://www.alsnswact.org.au/donate


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